


Listen

by mikeymagee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bromance, Friendship, Gen, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikeymagee/pseuds/mikeymagee
Summary: James is still trying to deal with the aftermath of the superhero Civil War that pitted him against his own team mates. And more importantly, the incident that led to the loss of his legs. Tony does what he can to help, but all the tech in the world won't help. No, what Rhodey needs is a friend. An open ear, and a warm shoulder. Sometimes, all anyone needs is to listen.





	

James Rhodes wasn’t the kind of man who dwelled on the past. He never really saw the point. What happened is already past, and the main focus needed to be fixing the problem, not lamenting on how it happened. But damn it...Colonel James Rhodes was having a hell of a time sticking to that principle. 

 

James had gone over  that one moment in time so often, that he was beginning to see it in his reflection, on his computer monitors, and in his morning coffee. Captain America had gone rogue. War Machine was in pursuit, and Falcon was right behind. James ordered Vision to take Sam out of the fight, aim for Sam’s thrusters and have him glide safely down to the ground to be apprehended.

 

But that’s not what happened. The next thing Rhodes new, he was plummeting to the ground and…

 

And now, he sits on Tony’s couch, a wheelchair to his side and a half empty coffee mug in his hands. When Rhodes had woken up, the entire world was a bleak white, and Tony stared over his face like a worried child. Tony’s hair was matted to his scalp, and his eyes were the color of used dishwater. The great Tony Stark only ever looked like that when he couldn’t get a new invention to work. And never, had Rhodey ever seen his friend look to him like that. 

 

Like he was broken beyond repair. 

 

James had wanted to recuperate back in his apartment. Where he could, at least, begin to make sense of his new state of self. But Tony wouldn’t hear of it. Tony insisted Rhodes stay with him, at least for the week. 

 

“Tony,” Rhodes said, “That’s a kind offer bu-”

 

“Great, then you’ll accept it.” Tony punched a few buttons on his cell phone, “Friday’s already getting your room ready. Dinner’s at 7, or whenever the hell you feel like raiding the fridge.” Tony fidgeted, he spoke in a blurred rush. His suit was wrinkled in seven different places, and his lower lip quivered with each word it let loose. “W-we’ve got a great view...which you know about ‘cuz you’ve seen it. A-”

 

“Tony,” Rhodes said as he placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder, “Everything’s gonna be alright.” Rhodey pressed his fingertips into the shoulders of Tony’s jacket, “Trust me.” 

 

But was that really true?

 

The great Colonel Rhodes, the man who flew hundreds of missions for the betterment of those who believed in democracy. The man who dawned the War Machine armor, and the Iron Patrion armor, and worked in tandem to build a country where everyone could be themselves, sat on his best friend’s couch and...waited. 

The doctors said it was necessary to heal. He needed to take it easy. But Rhodey wasn’t one to just sit around. He had to  _ do _ something. Get his mind off of his legs, and injured spine. When he was a kid, his father always advised him to get his hands dirty when he felt anxious.

 

“Do the dishes,” his father would tell him, “Vaccum, dust. Get your butt in gear and you’ll feel better.” Harsh words, but Rhodey learned to live by them. When he was anxious about an oncoming mission, Rhodes grabbed a dust mop and started cleaning. And shit, with Tony’s housekeeping skills, the house could really use a good dusting. And the dishes piling in the sink could use some attention as well. 

 

But every time Rhodey tried to turn the faucet on, Tony came storming from his lab to banish Rhodes back to the couch. 

 

“Rhodey,” Tony said with his lab goggles dangling from his neck,  “The doctor told you to take it easy. Doing dishes isn’t taking it easy.”        

 

“Yeah, but Tones, I’ve-”

 

“No,” Tony said taking the rag from Rhodey’s hands, “You’re gonna sit back and relax if I’ve gotta tie you to that couch. Kay?”

 

But, even though Tony was only trying to do what he believed was best, it made Rhodes feel more and more useless. Tony simply didn’t understand. As often as Rhodes told himself that he was the same person as before. He was still the same brave, noble soldier who saved countless lives, and did the right thing when it mattered, the truth was...he wasn’t. 

 

The James Rhodes who could walk run through a parking lot to get out  of the rain was gone. The James Rhodes who could hop over fences to get a better look at the sunset was no more. The James Rhodes who could slow dance to the dusty tunes of Charlie Mingus was never coming back. And the Rhodey who sat on Tony Stark’s couch was what was left. 

 

And Tony wasn’t making it any easier. Rhodey was  _ different _ now. Sure, he could still put on his War Machine armor and kick ass. Sure, he could use Tony’s machinery to walk around and pretend like everything was the same as it always had been. 

 

But that was only a falsehood that served to remind Rhodes of everything he had lost. He’d never be able to feel the sun on his toes, or cannonball in a pool. There was so much about himself that was gone. And he knew it wouldn’t come back. Not with all the tinkering Tony could muster. Not with all the money Tony could throw away. Now with all the accolades, and speeches the American Government could bestow. 

 

James was still a man who had lost something. How do you console that? How do you mourn something that, for so long, was only a concept, and not alive? 

How do you move forward?

 

“Hey Rhodey,” Tony said as he jogged up the stairs from his lab. Rhodey had never been more envious of Tony Stark than in that one moment. How easily he moved his feet. How nimbly he could dance from one spot to the next. It was infuriating. “How’re you holding up?” 

 

Badly. Rhodey wasn’t holding up. But he couldn’t tell Tony that. He couldn’t mention his frustration without Tony going overboard trying to rectify whatever ailment Rhodey was suffering. If Rhodey said his back was itchy, Tony would invent some high tech gadget to not only scratch his back, but make Rhodey breakfast.

 

And it was infuriating. It made Rhodes want to punch Tony in his face. It was suffocating. Tony’s concern was thick and clamouring, grabbing at Rhodey’s shirt sleeve like an impatient child. Rhodey needed silence. He needed peace. He needed to asses where he was going to go. How he was going to move forward. 

 

But Tony...Tony wouldn’t even consider Rhodey not being the same guy who raced around the MIT parking lot hoping to catch the next bus. 

 

“Hey Rhodey, you’re gonna love this. I’ve been making some calls, trying to get a second opinion on your legs and-”

 

“Tony,” Rhodey said, trying to keep the frustration in his chest from boiling over like wrought stomach bile. “You don’t have to-”

 

“I do, Rhodey. I-”

 

“No.” Rhodey said, slamming his fist onto the sofa’s arm chair. Jesus, this wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. For all of Tony’s guilt and overbearance, Rhodey wasn’t even allowed to be  _ upset _ . Rhodey  was the one who’d never walk again. Rhodey was the one who wouldn’t be able to run through the streets. Rhodey was the one who would have to travel down mainstreet in a wheelchair while people looked at him, pitied him, tried to make him feel better when in actuality it only made him feel worse. He was still a man damnit.  “Listen Tony. This entire situation is shit. I’m not gonna sit here and say I don’t care about it because I do. I care. It sucks. It fucking sucks.” 

 

Was Rhodey yelling? He wasn’t sure anymore. 

 

“But I can’t just sit here and have you worry over me. Lock me in your house and try and act like everything’s gonna be alright. Because, frankly man, this ain’t about you.” 

 

Tony sat dumbfounded. His goatee twitched. He hands hovered in the air, unsure whether or not to place themselves on Rhodey’s shoulder, or hide beneath the couch cushion. “I’m sorry, Rhodey. I-I just-”

 

“You feel bad. I know. You want to help. I appreciate that. You’re worried about me, and Tony I love you for that...but I can’t deal with my body and your guilt at the same time. It’s not fair.” 

 

Hadn’t Rhodey always been the one to pick up the shattered pieces Tony left behind after a misadventure? Rhodey was always there with glue and coffee and patience. Rhodey listened. 

 

And now, Rhodey needed someone to hear his bellyaching. Hear his frustration. Let him know that it was alright to be shattered. 

 

“So then,” Tony said as he placed his hands on Rhodey’s shoulder. “What can I do?” 

 

And Rhodey just shrugged, “Listen. That’s all I need right now.” The ear of a friend who wouldn’t understand, but was willing to at least try.  “D-do you think you could do that for me?”

 

Tony rubbed his chin. “Of course honeybear.”     

 

And for the first time, Rhodey felt as if he were heard. “Thanks, man.”  

 


End file.
